Rose Red
by PlayDead
Summary: Mort Rainey struggles to make another story happen when a stranger, an unhealhy one at that, falls on his living room floor. Though there's something wrong with her, very wrong. Can Mort distinguish what's right and wrong before it's too late? Please R&R.
1. What The Storm Blew In

A/N: Who's got a thing for Johnny Depp?

Disclaimer: What is Stephen King's, clearly is not mine.

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center b Rose Red

Chapter One

/b /center

Rain came down in sheets upon the cottage of Mort Rainey. It was Monday afternoon, and Mort sat in front of his notebook, staring at the blinking cursor, blinking aimlessly on the white document, taunting him. On rare occasion, he would type something, but it would seem weak. It would sound…flat. Flat seemed like the best word to describe the state his career was in.

Mort heaved a sigh, and chewed on the cap of a ballpoint pen, grimaced, and threw the pen behind him. He opened a new window on his laptop, and began to play Solitaire. A crash of thunder rattled his house, but another sound chimed in simultaneously.

Mort paused his game.

Listening, he heard it again. He peered over the banister and at the front door. The knock was ominous; as if strained. Mort tiptoed downstairs, and inwardly cursed when the floor groaned under his weight. The knock came again, slower, and a small cry behind the door. Mort furrowed his brow.

No more knocking. But the cry was repetitive. And it was the third time before Mort deciphered what the cry was.

"Please… God, help."

Mort didn't trust random knockers on his front door. He made this mistake months ago, but it still felt like yesterday.

The plea returned, and made him jump.

He tried to see outside by using the window, but only saw something dark, bent over, and hair. Red, diluted with the rain, pink liquid dripped onto his porch, and his eyes widened.

"Shit." Mort threw open the door, causing whatever what was behind it to fall to his feet. It was a girl, maybe in her late twenty's, clutching her arm. And blood. Blood was everywhere. Mort had only stood there, in shock, lost of what to do.

The hospital seemed almost out of the question. He could change his name, but it was too risky. But there was a bleeding girl on his living room floor, weeping, he had to do i something. b Something. /i /b 

Bending down, Mort took the stranger into his arms, frowning, and struggled up the stairs. The weeping had ceased, and for a second Mort panicked and set her on the ground next to the desk that held the notebook, which held that annoying blank document.

As if holding a child, Mort pushed the girl's hair back and smacked the side of her face lightly. She wasn't phased.

"Shit." He repeated. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." His mind raced. Removing her left hand from her right forearm, he looked at the wound. It was nothing but a small knick, but was entirely deep.

But the intent was unmistakable. Suicide attempt.

Though Mort was no doctor, the girl had clearly gone into shock, and fainted. Or from the blood loss. But was she in need of a real doctor? One with a PHD and everything?

i She needs a doctor. She could've lost too much blood for me to help her now.

b Fuck that. The police are already set to convict you of murder. What's it gonna look like if you bring a bleedin' girl into the emergency room? /b /i 

Mort soon found himself wrapping gauze around Elvira's wrist.

He only thought of that name because that's the only name that came to his mind when the girl had fell on his slippers; that he had disposed of because of blood stains. The wood even had crimson written on it; all because of some woman's morbid fixation.

Mort ruled out placing her on his bed until she woke. If she would wake. She was still soaking wet from nature's watery fury. Contemplating changing her clothes just felt…wrong, even though the curvy figure was undoubtedly attractive.

Feeling foolish, Elvira was placed in his bathtub, in an awkward position. Mort ignored her and sat back down at his notebook, and his shaking ceased when he continued to stare at the blinking cursor, that whispered "Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha-" With every annoying, blinking movement.

The device gave up and produced the screensaver that flashed the time in bright colors. 5:17.

Running a hand through is unruly blond hair, and adjusting his glasses, Mort got up again to check on Elvira.

And in surprise, saw her standing his bathroom, in the middle of the floor, completely still. Like a deer in the bright shine of headlights.

"Who are you?" Mort changed his mind. The girl couldn't have been older than nineteen. She was near tears, and sounded so i young /i .

"I should be asking you the same thing. You were pounding away on my front door," Mort pointed out his bedroom door. "And bleeding like you just had an encounter with Jason's machete."

Elvira looked down at her wrist, that had a small blood spot peaking through the layers of gauze. i It's a miracle she woke up. /i Mort thought.

"I was making dinner, and the knife-"

"I don't need an explanation. I just ask kindly that you leave my cabin and go back to where ever you came from." Mort gave a sinister grin. The girl didn't move.

"Thank you. I mean, for saving me."

"It was nothing. I-"

"I'm Ellie," Ellie held out her hand, the one that wasn't blood stained. Mort took it, but did not state his own name.

Another scream of thunder made Ellie jump. It was still pouring, buckets of water. Mort sighed. "I'll give you a ride back to where ever you live." Lightning brightened the dimming room, and the power went out. "As soon as all this clears up."

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A/N: Eh. I'm satisfied with it. Tell me what you think, lovers.


	2. Oddities

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I've got more than writing tasks that I'm tackling at the moment. Hopefully this'll tie y'all over until I can conjure up something a bit more interesting; more eventful.

Disclaimer: King's, king's.

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center b Rose Red

Chapter Two

/b /center 

"Effin' strangers outta nowhere coming to knock on my door in the dead middle of my writing. I'm cursed. That's what it is. I'm just simply fuckin' cursed." Mort mumbled on and on as he dug through a cardboard box in the back of his kitchen cabinet, until his hand settled on a waxy substance; closed his fingers around the cylindrical object and pulled it out to reveal a blue candle that wasn't used, lined with white frilly lace.

Mort's face tightened and the name spilt from his lips like a distasteful liquid. "Amy,"

He was sure that every object, every household item, every molecule that reminded him of that wretched woman was gone. The minor fact that he missed this one was going to bother him for weeks to come, unless he physically cut the memory out of him.

Leaning over the sink and struggling to open the window above it, Mort opened it with a slight 'Uhmf.' And hurled the decorative object out into the rain, and closed the window before he heard it land. He didn't dare look back out to see where it had hit the ground, it would only infuriate him.

It was awfully quiet.

"You alright in there?" He called out into the next room, and his only response was a shuffle, and then a whine of the floorboards. Mort furrowed his brow, and continued his hunt for a light.

A dimming flashlight and three candle stubs were set in the middle of the coffee table, casting an eerie glow on Mort's hollow face. He smacked his hands together and rubbed them vigorously; proud of the small light fixture he created on his own. Unfortunately, when he looked up, he saw Ellie standing in a corner, nearly frightened to breathe.

"You want to sit down?" He pointed to the sofa, and brushed the pillows onto the ground when the girl showed signs of movement. Mort grimaced when she sat down stiffly on the lumpy cushion that was a browning orange, considering how dripping wet she still was from the rain. He had to sleep on dead piece of furniture, for chrissakes.

Mort bit the side of his cheek. It had to be the lighting. But no puddle formed around the girl's body. Though water dripped from her long dark hair and landed on the couch, no water droplet imprint appeared on the couch. Mort was tempted to reach out and touch the fabric around her soaking jeans, but didn't want to frighten her anymore than she already was.

Ellie noticed him staring at her legs, and she shifted. He sat down, too, and watched in amusement as Ellie snuggled up to the arm of the chair so that there was enough space between them to fit three morbidly obese women on the sofa, too.

And silence. Ear-shattering, pin drop silence.

And if Mort so much as twitched, breathed loudly, Ellie would make a small movement. Mort cleared his throat, "So, Ellie,"

"What?" She answered immediately, and tucked a free hair behind her ear, revealing a number of studs and rings, all aligned up her cartilage. The girl was a nervous wreck.

"You're alright, aren't you?" Mort was almost concerned, he was afraid if the girl pressed herself against the arm of the sofa anymore, she would accidentally meld herself into it, and Mort would have to call a fire department to pry her out of the arm of some murderer's sofa arm.

Ellie nodded.

"How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?"

Ellie swallowed, but didn't answer. Mort trailed off.

"Twelve, fifty-six, twenty-seven…."

"Yeah." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Hm?"

"Twenty-seven."

She was joking. It couldn't be possible, she had the face of a child. But it settled Mort a little, knowing that the girl was being humorous. Just if only she would un-cling herself from the end of the couch.

Mort grinned. And as he studied her face, it looked familiar. Familiar in a way that if you saw someone at a grocery store, and said a friendly 'Good morning,' to them, you'd remember the face. That must've been what it was, he's seen her on the streets somewhere. But it seemed odd to Mort, that he would recognize her even in the low-lighting.

More silence. "Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

Ellie shook her head. Without thinking, Mort reached out and took her arm to investigate the wound. He was sorry he did it; the girl became a frozen form in his grasp.

And prayed that the storm blow over soon, so he could get her the hell out of there. The wound looked fine, but

i (the blood spot is gone) /i 

she should see a doctor after she gets home, he decided.

"I mean it, thank you for… helping me. I'm such a klutz…" Her voice jumped, and Mort was afraid she was going to start bawling.

He nodded and smiled a little, and let go of her arm. She retaliated slowly, and moved away from the end of the couch and positioned herself to face him, as if she was never afraid of him at all.

The familiarity of her face was almost too much.

"I assume you live around here?"

"Not far, right down the street, in fact. Green house, brown shutters. The ugliest thing on the block, but it's right next to yours, and you were the closest one when this happened,"

She held up her bandaged arm, that was no longer bloodstained, and the bandages looked brand new. "I didn't mean to interrupt you, Mr. Rainey."

"It was nothing," Mort gulped. "Do we know eachother?"

Ellie's bright eyes widened. Mort's eyes narrowed, her smeared makeup was now fixed… "Sorry, I'm a fan of your novels. I've always liked bragging about living next door to a famous writer."

b i It's the police, motherfucker. Get rid of her. Use your fist, a club, just get 'er outta there! /b /i 

"And an attractive one at that. I've a bit of an obsession," Ellie smiled. And Mort was sure that the smile would clear up the weather on its own, if he stuck Ellie's face out the window and made her laugh, the sun would come out and birds would sing.

But the power returned shortly after her smile faded. No more forced conversation.

i I've a bit of an obsession, /i "Mort, you stud." Mort stifled a laugh as he threw away what was left of the candles; looked at the yellow flashlight, and tossed that too.

Wiping his hands on his pants, he whirled around and nearly screamed to find Ellie standing there, no longer dripping wet, but perfectly dry.

"I'm dreaming. That's what this is, some crazy dream."

Ellie giggled. "Well, if you are, can you wake up and take me home?" She pointed a black fingernail out the large window that overlooked a lake, and the storm had been slowed to a slow drizzle.

Mort nodded, and watched her walk to his front door, restraining the monster inside him; that wanted to pin the creature against the wall and have her right then and there.

Mort missed the part when Ellie became so comfortable around him.

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A/N: Well, well. There ya have it. Do what you want with it. And for y'lovely reviewers:

b Jamie The Frickin Star /b : Blood's a nice touch. ) And I enjoy a late revie

b Lip Butter /b : Glad it's fit your satisfaction so far. And 'indeed' is a very sophisticated word. :)

b Dawnie-7 /b : And a traditional thanks to you, m'dear.


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